Mask
by potatopersonal
Summary: Russia hides behind a mask. What does he truly think?


Russia was hidden, hidden far away. He was hidden in a hard to reach nook, in a difficult to reach spot, in a dangerously located area. And it was intentional. Now, you might wonder how he could have gotten himself in said location, but the truth was, it was only mental. Not physical. Physically, he was there. But mentally, emotionally, he wasn't.

The fact is, Russia hid himself behind a mask; a mask of smiles. Smiles that stretched into unnatural curves, intimidating, fake, _terrifying._ They say that his smile wasn't the only terrifying feature, but his eyes were as well. An unnatural shade of purple, most would assume they were a rather well crafted pair of contacts. They were often glazed over, blocking the so called window to the soul.

With the cloudy eyes, one couldn't gauge what Russia was thinking. One could guess, but guesswork can result in severe failure.

Most nations, due to those facts, stayed far away from Russia, fearing him. If only they took the time to see, the mask forced upon his face. Could anyone even tell? Could they see that he was faking, that it was all a facade? Couldn't they tell that the smiles never told the truth, that the eyes were blocking how he was feeling?

Did anyone even care?

Most likely not...

But... why _did_ Russia have a mask on anyways? What was he hiding? When did it even develop?

Well, you see, Russia has been constantly been plagued with grief; conquered by empires, invaded by other attempts, and worst of all, his bosses. So much pain had been felt, that Russia desperately created the mask. It was a barrier that protected him, kept his inner self intact, even if it was only held together by rotting pieces.

With so many leaders who enjoyed torture, who not only loved, but obsessed over causing pain, they would transfer it over to their personification.

Cruel, you might say, but it's true.

With the mask, he could protect himself, even if only a bit. It was the only protection he had; nothing else could save him, no object, no sight, no person, no nation.

Nothing.

 _Nothing._

Do you realize it now, my friend? Do you realize the walls set up? Can you gaze past this mask?

Masks extended to clothing, too.

Fully covered at all times, have to make sure no one can see, need to cover up, need to protect, so scared...

What was Russia to do?

* * *

To be left alone, or to be in company... to be honest, Russia wasn't sure which he preferred.

While he _did_ enjoy the company of people, it was too loud for him. The ruckus of the world meetings hurt his ears, made his head pound even more, unable to rest or try to recuperate from injuries. People expected him to talk, to vocalize, to share his opinion, but would what he would say agree with his boss? It had to, it _had_ to, otherwise his boss would get angry, and he had already gotten angry today.

Russia looked exhaustedly around the meeting room, dimly taking notice of the bickering nations, as he contemplated his idea.

Being alone... he hated to be by himself, experienced it far to much... But then... wouldn't being alone get him away from his boss? Ah, that would be nice... Freedom...

Russia's head began to fall, resting on the light pink scarf he constantly wore. So tired... If he were to fall asleep, would anyone notice? If he were to die right on the spot, would anyone care?

No...

Russia gave a small laugh at that, curling into himself at the pain the simple action brought.

Honestly, why did he even try?

There wasn't anything keeping him going, after all...

Oh, right... He was a nation...

Nation...

Russia's eyes closed, falling into a fitful sleep. He was dreaming; he was in a warm field; the air warmed his body, he was relaxed, nothing hurt, and there was even a sunflower next to him, swaying in the breeze. Birds flew peacefully. They were so lucky, to be born with the talent to fly...

His cheeks were wet; reaching a shaky hand up to his cheek, Russia realized he was crying. He wondered why, why was he showing such emotion, when he realized he was jealous.

The birds were free. They weren't bound by regulations, by a never ending life, never constricted, never having limitations. They didn't have to listen to terrible leaders, fear constantly for pain. They were free. They were free, and they could fly, chirp happily, live among their own kind with no hate or resentment or fear or _anything._ So lucky... They were so lucky!

What possible fears could they have?

Fear...

He feared his bosses...

He feared for the safety of his people...

He feared that his people will never be happy...

He feared that he was hurting them...

Something hurt, Russia realized. No, it wasn't his chest; that always hurt, no matter if injuries were present or not.

Suddenly, Russia realized he was in the meeting room.

...Huh?...

Wasn't he in a field...?

Oh... He must have dozed off accidentally... So that's where the pain was coming from, the injuries he had.

What a caring leader, right?

Right?

Someone slapped his back; Russia winced at the pain it brought, before looking blearily at the nation before him.

A chubby man, with golden cowlick, sporting a superhero t-shirt. He had on a pair of glasses; America.

The nation grinned, and leaned down to where Russia was sitting. It was hard to make out the words, Russia was that exhausted, but he got the basic gist of it; the meeting was over, their bosses were to go on vacation, Russia was to come over and visit... Ah, that meant he could have some distance from his leader...

A tired smile was put on his face, and Russia agreed.

If there ever was a person to try and glance behind Russia's mask, it was America.

* * *

 _Well, that's all! Kinda disjointed, I know. The two parts were_ very _loosely connected, maybe not even. I suppose the second part is what Russia is like when he's tired...?_

 _Nonetheless, please review! It gives me motivation in life._

 _-Potato_


End file.
